


check you off across every dotted line

by explosivesky



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, beacon academy canon au, fluff! sex! comedy!, hard m probably, valentine's day compatibility tests! guess what happens!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 06:12:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17802554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/explosivesky/pseuds/explosivesky
Summary: Your perfect match, the test results read, and Blake's name imprints in its bold, black type against the backs of her eyelids. Honestly, neither of them are even remotely surprised. It's been two years. An official excuse doesn't make it any easier, until it does.Do you know what this means? Blake asks.Yeah, Yang says. I'm so in love with you that even a fucking machine can tell. Ugh.





	check you off across every dotted line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halcyonlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyonlight/gifts).



> happy valentine's day! this is for halcyonlight based on [this text post.](http://twelveclara.tumblr.com/post/182806167579)

“Come _on,_ Blake,” Weiss whines for the tenth-fiftieth-hundredth time that day. “ _Please_ participate _._ It’s for a good cause! It’s a fundraiser for _us!_ Beacon Academy!”

“Why do you need _me_?” Blake asks, finally humoring her request, only because Weiss has her trapped in the lunch line and she wants fish fry more than she doesn’t want to listen. “Ruby bought one, right? And all of Jaune’s team? And like, a hundred other people at this school?” 

“Yes, but that’s not the _point,_ ” Weiss says dramatically, taking an apple from the fruit basket. “It’ll reflect well upon me if my entire team supports my endeavors.” 

Blake raises a single eyebrow, disbelief piqued. “What, like I’m the only one who hasn’t?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re telling me _Yang_ agreed to this?” 

“She did,” Weiss says proudly, and follows up with claws. “She’s my _friend_ and _teammate,_ and clearly _she_ understands how much her cooperation meansto me.” 

Blake bites the inside of her cheek, stare focused on the grill ahead of them. Well, that bit of information unfortunately makes the entire prospect more interesting. “What is it, anyway? A love test?” 

Weiss sighs; _unsophisticated_ sits on her tongue somehow. Blake hears the undertone. “It’s a compatibilitytest. You fill out a questionnaire and we match you with the person who complements you most, and you go on a date for Valentine’s Day.” 

Her entire face reads as a grimace by the time Weiss’s explanation is done, distaste expanding beyond her mouth. “Is the date mandatory?” she asks. “Are you personally going to be holding your sword to my throat?” 

Weiss actually laughs, worryingly entertained by the visual. “No,” she says, amused. “It’s just a suggestion. But who knows - maybe you’ll like who you’re paired with.”

“Maybe,” Blake agrees, so dry and sarcastic that Weiss is surprised when her lips don’t crack over the word on its way out, split like dirt, hardened by heat. She slips a fish fry on her plate, turns away toward their table, her eyes automatically falling to Yang. Her hair’s up in a messy bun today, blazer unbuttoned; she’s looking over some of her notes, popping grapes mindlessly in her mouth as she focuses. 

“Maybe,” Weiss continues breezily near her shoulder, “you’ll _want_ to go on the date.” 

She brushes past Blake, tosses her an ominous smirk as if she knows exactly where Blake’s stare falls in a crowded room, where her mind goes when it wanders.

“Hey,” Yang says when she approaches, pats the spot next to her on the bench. “Saved you the best seat in the house. Seriously, I beat someone up a few minutes ago for trying to take it.”

Blake scoots beside her, presses a little too close. Their elbows knock lightly. It’s one of their familiar accidents, offenses; the space between them always dwindles until it becomes nothing. “No you didn’t, and you’re an idiot.” 

Yang laughs, pops another grape into her mouth. Blake’s ear twitches, gravitates to the sound. “Whatever, Belladonna. I know you think I’m funny.” 

“I was lying when I told you that.” 

“You never lie to me, but nice try.” 

Weiss keeps her smile cool, ice blue eyes frustratingly arrogant and all-knowing. Okay, so, maybe it’s _kind-of_ obvious.

\--

Weiss passes them the forms that evening, one in each hand. They’re sitting on Blake’s bunk studying for an exam when the papers are thrust beneath their noses. 

“You want us to do this _now_?” Blake asks, taking it from her despite her skepticism. 

“Yes,” Weiss says. “You’re both late. The online link expired, so you need to fill these out manually before I can submit them. We’re printing results in the morning.” 

“Printing?” Yang says, frowning bemusedly. “That’s so...ancient.” 

“It’s fun,” Weiss retorts. “Who doesn’t want to receive a physical letter on Valentine’s Day? It’ll give everyone something to look forward to.” 

Yang only lifts and drops a shoulder, lower lip slightly thrust out in an adorable shrug. “Okay,” she says, and picks up her pencil, shutting her textbook to use as a flat surface.

Blake follows suit with a sigh and far less complaining than she’d planned on. She wants to make this harder on Weiss, wants to tease her, wants to play roles, but it’s impossible with the ease at which Yang acquiesces; she’d just come across as abrasive and difficult. She smoothes out the sheet, starts to read. 

_Interested in:_ is a question at the top of the page, innocuous and simple. It’s next to name, birthday. Blake stares unblinkingly at Yang’s hand out of the corner of her eye, watches her circle _women_ without thinking twice, moving onto favorite color. 

Blake’s fingers tremble. She marks both _men_ and _women_ with such quick, vicious lines that she almost rips the page. 

\--

“Can’t wait to receive my results,” Yang says with a certain sardonic flair, handing Weiss her completed questionnaire ten minutes later. She shoots Blake a wink. “If I’m not paired with my soulmate or something, I want my money back.” 

Blake rolls her eyes, also passing over her paper. “Considering half the student body has already been rejected by you,” she says, “I think you should be prepared for disappointment.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Yang says, sprawling back across Blake’s bed with a challenging smirk. “There’s still the other half of the student body left. I like my odds.” 

Blake mirrors her, finds her own fire. Yang seems to inspire it in her. “Someone you have your eye on, Xiao Long?” 

“All I’m saying,” Yang replies, rising spectacularly as Blake sinks beside her, blood suddenly sedimentary in her veins, “is that maybe I’ve just been waiting for the right person.” She meets Blake’s eyes without hesitation, nothing cruel about her mouth. “What about you, Belladonna?”

“ _Please_ stop flirting,” Weiss interrupts exhaustedly, and Ruby finally breaks into laughter. “I’m begging you. I’ll rig the results if it’ll shut you up.” 

“We’re not flirting,” Blake responds, denial automatic. She’ll say the lines, read the scripts. 

“I am,” Yang drawls, raises a hand lazily, and Blake can’t stop the flushing of her cheeks. Her feet hurt from walking tightropes. Will they, won’t they, why won’t they - Yang’s stare turns sinister, carnal - oh, they will. One day, they definitely will. “Rig the results, Weiss. I give you permission.” 

“No.” Weiss goes back to her scroll, inputting their answers. “I won’t compromise the integrity of the compatibility test.” 

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Yang says, falls against Blake’s pillows with her hair spread out behind her. Blake thinks of keeping her there, laying in bed with the sun. “Fucking nerd.” 

“Hey!” 

Blake hasn’t spoken in far too long and it’s noticeable. She’s always so close to an edge, always teetering over high cliffs, but she takes the step back to playful causticism. “Integrity,” she snorts. “It’s a personality quiz. There’s nothing _honorable_ about it. We might as well go to a fortune teller.” 

“Now _that’s_ a good idea,” Ruby says seriously, Weiss sputtering beneath her.

\--

Yang’s already finished her run that morning when she stumbles upon Weiss’s booth, where she and Coco are handing out envelopes to a long line of participants, eager for their matches. Blake had been getting into the shower when Yang had left, promising to grab her a tea from the dining hall on her way back; the cup burns warm against the palm of her hand. 

“Ah, Yang!” Weiss calls upon spotting her. “Here - I’ve got yours--”

Yang traipses over, oddly nervous with her footfalls stuttering. Weiss, similarly, seems slightly _too_ high-strung, excitable and frantic. Yang takes the letter, sets her cup on the edge of the table, and starts opening it. 

“Hey, Yang!” a male voice shouts from down the line. “Tell me if it’s me! I have a _great_ date planned out already--” 

Yang flips him off without even looking for the voice’s owner. “ _You’re_ the reason I don’t like men,” she taunts, and his friends laugh, _ooh_ -ing him.

She slips the paper out of the envelope, unfolds it, and in big, bold letters--

Figures. Well, she probably deserves it. “Very funny,” she says to Weiss, disgruntled. “Who’s my _real_ match?”

“What?” Weiss asks, smiling as she hands a third-year a pink envelope.

“What do you mean, ‘what’?” 

“What do you _mean,_ what do I mean?” 

“Stop playing dumb,” Yang grumbles, waving the paper. “These _results._ ” 

“Can we not do - _whatever_ this is - here?” Weiss asks, and taps Coco on the shoulder. “Excuse me for a minute, I’ll be right back.” Coco only nods, licks her finger as she sorts through the _L_ names. 

They round the corner into privacy; everyone’s too wound up over their own love lives to notice conflict. “Is this a joke?” Yang threatens lowly, letter clutched in her hand. “If you’re fucking with me, I swear--”

“Yang,” Weiss starts, “I have _literally_ no idea what you’re talking about. All we did was run your answers through a program, which then matched you. I haven’t even _read_ the results.” She narrows her eyes, examines the lines of Yang’s body, tension-filled and iron-bent. “Why?” she asks, almost an accusation. “Who’d you get?” 

Yang stares her down a moment longer, tall and intimidating, but Weiss’s confusion is too clearly authentic to be angry with; she unravels slowly, releases a breath through her nose, looks away. “Blake,” she says. “I got Blake.” 

Weiss huffs, irritated and short. “Well, fucking _obviously,_ ” she snaps, lacking the patience to panic over such a boring revelation. “ _That’s_ what you’re freaking out about? You and Blake being a perfect match? _Of course_ you are, and frankly, the idea that you expected otherwise--” 

“I didn’t expect _anything,_ ” Yang retorts, unsteady and uncomfortable. “She’s my - partner.”

“Partner,” Weiss repeats flatly.

“Best friend,” Yang says. “She’s my best friend.” 

“You’ve been in love with each other for _two years,_ ” Weiss points out, her annoyance only spiraling. “Now you have the proof in writing! Go on a date! Who cares! I got _Pyrrha!_ ” 

Yang’s hit with whiplash at that, thinks she pulls a muscle with the speed her eyebrows shoot up. “ _Pyrrha?_ ” she says, aghast. “Like, Pyrrha Nikos? Pyrrha Nikos, who dumped Jaune last semester? _That_ Pyrrha?” 

Weiss only crosses her arms, jaw tightening at every incantation of her name. “What are you trying to do, summon her? Why don’t we just go chant into a mirror?” 

“ _Pyrrha Nikos?_ ” Yang says again, unable to grasp the concept. There’s a shock she’s slipping in and out of. At least it’s a fun distraction.

Well, until it’s over. “Ugh!” Weiss squeals, so red in the face she clashes horribly with her own hair; she opens her mouth again, breath like a bubble waiting to pop in her throat for sound. Nothing comes out. She snaps her lips back together, turns on her heel and storms away. 

Yeah, so one of them’s got _real_ problems.

\--

Blake’s dressed by the time Yang returns, lacing up her boots on the edge of the bed; it’s Saturday, and there’s nothing quite like seeing Blake in her own clothes rather than their academy uniform. She’s in a loose white crop top and black jeans, bare-faced and still stunning, ears flicking as if still slightly damp. 

“Hey,” Blake says, smiles appreciatively as Yang sets the tea on her desk. “Thanks.” 

“No problem,” Yang says, fidgeting with the paper in her hands. “I, uh - I also got your - your letter. Like, for your match.” 

Blake blinks, tying her hair into a high ponytail; Yang can’t look at her without facing the inevitable, and she’s afraid it’ll fill the room, afraid it’ll drown them. “Thanks,” she says, reaching for it. “Who’d you match with? I mean, not that I _believe_ it, or anything”--she tears the envelope--“but Weiss _never_ would’ve let me live it down if I’d refused, so”--she straightens the paper out--“I didn’t really feel like I had a choice. It’s just…” She trails off, comprehending the name written across it; Yang sees the black, bold type the same way her own burns into her skin like a tattoo. “Oh.”

“Surprise?” Yang offers, lips in a weak grin. “Yeah. She - um, she swore on her life she didn’t rig the results. So. Um. Yeah.”

“Um,” Blake says brilliantly. “Well, that’s - um.” 

“Unexpected?” 

They stare at each other in the silence that follows. Yang’s the one who’d suggested the word, but she knows it’s wrong before she even says it. She and Blake are a lot of things, a lot of contradictions; complex from a distance, simple when broken down to their essentials. There’s no night and day, no sun and moon, no blood and poetry - the shadows are there, but they’re softer, muted under trickling light. They’re kaleidoscopes and microscopes, color blown up to every minute pigment. 

That’s why it’s wrong. Because they’re exposed when they’re alone, and _unexpected_ isn’t even remotely close. 

“No,” Blake says quietly, and Yang slips her bottom lip between her teeth, releasing it a second later. “Not that.”

The admission emboldens her; Yang shifts her weight, settles more confidently on her feet. She knows how to live in the in-betweens, the grey areas lining _something_ and _something more._ Give her an inch - she doesn’t have to take anything further, because Blake’ll give her a million. She tugs on her own ponytail lightly, runs her fingers through the ends; she’s only in shorts and a tank top, and she’s definitely in need of a shower, but she’s still the most beautiful person Blake’s ever seen in her life. Maybe it’s time she finally admit that. Maybe it’s time they both do.

“Okay,” Yang agrees, stepping forward. “Expected.”

“Very expected.” 

“Probably the most obvious thing on the planet.” 

Blake’s mouth curls up. “So?” she says, puts the future and all its possibilities into Yang’s hands. “What do we do now?” 

“We were gonna have breakfast, if I remember right,” Yang says, only teases it rather than commits. “I mean, if you think you can still handle it without jumping me.” 

“You’re so annoying,” Blake says, and that’s the trap she sets for herself. She’s blushing. 

She’s thought about it before, that’s the problem; pushing Yang against the backs of doors, Yang’s fingers pinning her wrists to the mattress. It’s always in the quiet hours of the night, empty afternoons with nothing else to focus on when the ideas creep out of their corners. And Yang’s going to know that. She’s going to take a single look at her expression, catalogue all the places her blood pools and read what she’s written there. 

She does exactly that. Blake dares a glance at her face and swallows Yang’s wicked smirk, red-lipped and already taking her to bed; she hums, turns to the bathroom, stalls with a hand slipping down the door frame - and then her fingers are under the hem of her tank top, pulling it up and over her head, fabric dropping to the floor - then her sports bra follows, and all Blake’s left with is a sudden stretch of bare skin and her muscles rippling like water, the sharp points of her shoulder blades, the grooves of her spine, the dimples of her lower back - breathing, she’s heard of the concept - Yang tilts her chin over her shoulder, pupils inhaling the tinting red of her irises--

“Annoying, huh?” she says conversationally, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

Blake follows abruptly, smacks her fist against the door, heart still stuck in place somewhere behind her, phasing through her body. It hasn’t caught up, frozen and unbeating. “I take it back,” she calls through the wood, rests her forehead against the back of her hand. “I was too generous. You’re a fucking asshole.” 

All she hears is Yang’s answering laughter on the other side, and the spray of the shower hitting the tile.

\--

“This isn’t the date, by the way,” Yang says seriously as she pours maple syrup over her pancakes. Blake chokes on her orange juice, but she presses on anyway, uncaring. “I figured we’d do that later. Dinner.” 

“Oh, so you’ve got this all planned out,” Blake says, as if going along with it leaves room for an upper hand. The air smells like salt and chocolate, a mix of the ocean and the bakery. Yang has powdered sugar on her lip; Blake thinks of leaning across the table, kissing it off. She won’t. She cares too much about first-second-third impressions. 

Yang apparently doesn’t, throwing herself overboard. Oh, she’ll say, we’ve always been this far gone. “Belladonna,” she replies, shameless and free, “I’ve had this planned out since the moment I first saw you.” 

It’s a line, but it’s also true, and it works. “Pick me up at seven,” Blake says. She’ll wear a dress and heels. She’ll have Yang’s knees on the floor. She’ll have the candles lit.

“We live together.” 

She arches an eyebrow, holds it. “So I’m expecting you won’t be late.”

Their stares lock, direct and confrontational. Yang’s chewing slows until she swallows. There’s a moment building, or there should be, but it’s been two years and not a lot left to be shy about. 

Yang points her fork at her. “Is this foreplay?” she asks, “Because I feel like this is foreplay,” and the tension vanishes with the sound of Blake’s laughter, rolling like the tide below.

\--

It’s hard to cross that line with Blake, right up until the split second she does it, and then it’s like nothing’s ever been easier in her life.

There’s no surprise - they get ready in the same room - and she watches Blake pull a loose black dress overhead, sees the lace underneath, understands the intention of it. Weiss and Ruby aren’t home. Yang texts them both to stay that way.

Blake leaves her hair down, lets it drape her back like a curtain. Yang wears shorts and a tank top with a red-and-black flannel rolled up to her elbows. Blake looks at her like she wishes there were more layers to unpeel, strip her of. 

They’d decided on something casual for dinner, noting the relief of pressure; first date, they’d said nonchalantly, why splurge on extravagance? In reality, Yang thinks they’d only done it so they weren’t obligated to stay as long. It’s been two years coming. Any meal longer than an hour seems like a form of torture. 

“Hey,” Yang says, catches her wrist as they approach the restaurant. “I’ve realized something.”

“Hm?” 

“I’ve realized how unconventional this all is.” 

“Only now?” Blake jabs, mild surprise to her voice, and then she sighs to disappointment. “Well. We can’t all be geniuses.” 

Yang slips her fingers over Blake’s chin, rests it between her thumb and her index, tilts her jaw up. Her other arm winds around Blake’s waist, tugs her in close. She’s always had a right to this. “You’re the annoying one,” she says, and kisses her. 

Oh, nevermind, Blake’s right and Yang _is_ stupid - she should’ve been more show than talk, she should’ve followed through with bite, they should’ve been doing this forever - Blake’s bottom lip fits easily between hers, full and pink and warm - there’s a breath lost, a heartbeat wedged between her teeth - Blake grasps her shirt in her hands, shatters into pieces, kisses back harder, more urgently, and Yang lets her tongue slip, fills in all her cracks--

“I told you,” Yang murmurs against her mouth, pulling away for the briefest of moments, “I liked my odds.”

\--

Yang’s pretty sure they eat dinner, but she doesn’t really remember it. 

She stares. Blake wraps her lips around a straw, her fingers on her chopsticks. Her smile ignites, her laughter blooms. Half the restaurant turns to look at her when she does either of those things. Yang becomes the embodiment of envy to them all. She knows it sounds over-exaggerated, dramatic, but she swears it isn’t, swears it’s an attraction stronger than a god, swears Blake pulls the stars to her. You, she wants to say, you’re the reason for this universe, and everyone’s aware of it. 

“So, I’m thinking,” Yang says after she pays the check that the waiter sets in front of her, standing up to leave.

“I’m listening.” 

“We should have sex.” 

Blake twines their fingers together, tugging her out the door. “You really _are_ slow today,” she comments idly, but her lips sit impish. “Why else would I wear lingerie?” 

“It’s polite to ask,” Yang says, once again recalling her skin like a famous painting. “That’s all.” 

“Well, then, yes,” Blake agrees. “We _should_ have sex.” 

They’re on opposite sides of the same script, that’s what Blake deciphers later. She straddles Yang’s mouth in her dreams, comes on her tongue, threads her hands through Yang’s hair. In reality, someone has to take the lead, and it isn’t Blake: she’s a little too drunk on wine, on atmosphere. Yang rips her dress up and off, palms her hips, her ass, works a thigh between her legs, forces Blake to grind close. Her flannel hits the floor, her tank top, her shorts. Blake’s mattress develops an entirely new connotation.

“Just in case you were wondering,” Yang says, crouching over her, “the person I was waiting for was you.” 

“I get it,” Blake says, crooks a knee, aching for the pressure, “we’re in love. We’ve been in love forever. Shut up and fuck me.” 

Yang’s laugh rumbles low in her chest, in her throat. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she says. Her eyes are a sinful red that matches her mouth. She slips her hand underneath black lace, finds Blake hot and soaking wet, and her pupils expand, consume, and blackness is not an emptiness but a void to fill - there are others like it - she dips her fingers into Blake, one to test boundaries, two when she realizes they don’t exist - Blake gasps and digs her nails into Yang’s shoulders, scratches down--

“Oh, fuck,” she says, cants her hips. Yang’s addicted to the fluttering of her eyelashes, her parted lips. “Fuck, fuck--” 

Yang removes her fingers and Blake’s eyes snap open, anger groaning in her throat, until Yang lifts her middle finger and slips it between her lips, licks and sighs at the taste, Blake’s stare trained and strangled. Yang lowers her index to Blake, wet in the dim light, and Blake wraps her mouth around it, doesn’t break eye contact while her tongue works the length, sucks it clean. Yang’s thighs are damp and she’s probably dripping, but there’s no room for shame; Blake’s so fucking _dirty._

Yang replaces her fingers with her lips, kisses Blake’s taste from her mouth and shifts down onto her stomach, settles between Blake’s legs - and then she just _stares_ for a moment, builds tension until Blake’s writhing underneath her, molten metal instead of blood, salt instead of skin. 

“Do you know how often I thought about doing this?” she asks, and her tongue darts out, swiping over Blake’s clit. Blake immediately strains, but all Yang does is tighten her grip around Blake’s thighs, keeps them pressed down. She licks Blake again. “All the fucking time.” 

Blake snakes her fingers through Yang’s hair, tugs it harshly; Yang trembles, irises a vivid crimson to the point of danger. “Make me come,” Blake threatens, “or we’re done here.” 

Yang doesn’t laugh, pride flaring at the challenge; she lowers her mouth and does exactly what Blake wants her to do. Of course she does. It’s what she’s done all along. And when Blake tires of the gloating commentary afterwards, when she’s bored of Yang’s smirk glinting in the light, she shoves her onto her back and slides two fingers into her, adds a third almost before she’s ready for it. 

“I’ve been listening to you talk for two years,” Blake says darkly, curling her fingers, “but now I’d rather listen to you moan.” She lowers her lips to Yang’s ear. “Say my name.” 

Yang’s lost her entire mind, severed her vocal chords, left herself thoroughly blank and bare; her body quivers viciously, wound up and tight, her hands shoved underneath Blake’s pillow and grasping. Blake angles her fingers up, presses harder, deeper, and Yang’s spine curves sharply off the mattress. 

“Blake,” she finally lets fall, choking on it. “Blake, fuck, _Blake_ \--” 

Blake’s wet again at the sound, but rewards her for it, shifts the attention to her clit and circles quickly. Yang reconstructs and collapses, Blake’s name thriving on her lips, and the blackness returns but this time it is full.

\--

Yang passes out in one of Blake’s grey shirts and her underwear, limbs spread and muscles relaxed, every inch of her still screaming _sex_ and _satisfied._ Blake curls against her, head on her arm and a leg thrown casually across her hips. She pulls the blankets up like they double as a hiding place, imagines Weiss and her screeching at the state of affairs, the candles lit, the windows open. Blake doesn’t care. She’ll let Weiss kill her before she even dreams of making Yang return to her own bed. 

Two years. What a waste of fucking time when they could’ve been doing _this._

Yang pulls her closer in her sleep, and for a second, Blake isn’t sure if _this_ is referring to sex or love. She presses a kiss to Yang’s jaw. Both, she thinks. It’s both.

\--

Weiss and Ruby are both still gone when they wake up in the morning - Ruby’d slept over at a friend’s dorm, and Weiss - well, Weiss-- 

“She matched with Pyrrha,” Yang says, stretching in bed. “Maybe they did what we were doing.” 

Blake laughs unexpectedly. “Pyrrha?” she repeats. “Pyrrha Nikos? Pyrrha Nikos, who dumped Jaune last semester?” 

“I said _literally_ the same thing,” Yang says, turning to face her with a vivacious grin. “We really _are_ meant for each other.” 

“We didn’t need a test to tell us that,” Blake says, brushes her thumb across Yang’s bottom lip, tries not to think of it between her legs. She somewhat succeeds. Sort of. Not really. “We were just stupid.” 

“Oh, that’s lucky,” Yang says. “I’m moronsexual. I’m only attracted to idiots.” 

“I still use my fingers to count for basic math,” Blake says seriously. 

“Ugh, stop,” Yang says, tilting her head away as if she can’t bear to look at her. “I’m _so_ horny for you right now.”

Blake palms her cheek, laughing, and Yang shifts back to center, meets her eyes like a sunrise. “I love you,” she says, and Yang rolls over until she’s half-on top of her, their smiling lips meeting in a kiss. 

“I love _you,_ ” Yang says, lilac irises too much of a field to lie with flowers. She sweeps Blake’s bangs away from her forehead, stares adoringly. “I always heard things were supposed to be different in the morning, you know? Like, after you sleep with someone, everything’s changed.”

“So what’s the verdict with us?” Blake asks.

It’s not even a discussion they need to have. “Ten out of ten,” Yang says cutely, “considering I woke up with a girlfriend.”

\--

The dining hall is packed; there definitely seem to be more couples than there were yesterday, meaning Weiss’s matchmaking project most certainly worked for people other than her and Blake. They meet up with their friends at their usual lunch table, giggling and whispering under their breath when they notice Pyrrha sitting next to Weiss. Yang has a hickey she’d forgotten to hide. It’s all about learning what to let go.

“Weiss,” she announces dramatically as they take a seat, “I met my soulmate. You can keep the money.” She’s holding Blake’s hand, and it doesn’t take detective work. Nobody looks even remotely surprised. 

“I thought you were dating already,” Nora says. 

“I was keeping it anyway,” Weiss says. “It’s a fundraiser, Yang.” 

“Aw,” Blake coos, pinches one of Yang’s cheeks. “Did you not know that? You’re so dumb. Do me.” 

Yang presses a loud kiss to her mouth, teasingly plays along. “ _That’s_ something I know a lot about, actually. Want me to impress you with my vast knowledge and intelligence?” 

“ _Please,_ ” Weiss says, holding her fingers to her temples and massaging, “stop flirting. I’m begging you. I can’t listen to it anymore.”

“This is _your_ fault,” Blake reminds her cheerfully, stealing a few fries off of Yang’s plate. It’s already so normalized it’s like they’ve finally reached what they always should’ve been, and everything they’ve been doing up until this point has been forced and unnatural. Yang shoots her a smile, affection spilling so visibly it’s almost embarrassing, or it would be if it weren’t so sincere, if Blake couldn’t mirror it herself. 

“I regret it,” Weiss says. 

Blake shifts close; their elbows knock lightly, and under the table, Yang’s knee brushes hers. It’s not longer an accident, an offense. She wonders what used to be so insurmountable about them, how their lines constrained like the bars of a prison cell. Twenty-four hours versus two years, and already she’s forgetting what the loneliness used to feel like.

“I don’t,” Yang says, and she kisses Blake again, leaves it soft enough for the bare and blatant truth. 

_I love you,_ she says, _and I hope everybody knows._

**Author's Note:**

> MEANWHILE: weiss and pyrrha have a great time on their date. they stay up all night talking in their pajamas and kiss once. the end


End file.
